


The Bulky Beauty

by ChroniclesOfJan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Grandparents & Grandchildren, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying my best, Inktober 2020, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Pickup truck, Short & Sweet, bulky, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChroniclesOfJan/pseuds/ChroniclesOfJan
Summary: Looking back on her Pap, that old clunker of a truck comes to mind. Ol' Damsel, that was her name.I am horrible at summaries, but it's cute, I swear.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Inktober 2020 - Hallmark Types





	The Bulky Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Inktober Day 3: Bulky

Pap’s truck could be considered nothing other than bulky, a clunker if you will. A 1974 Datsun 720. An ugly thing, really. You could hear it chugging along from four blocks away, and the smell of chew tobacco was permanently ingrained into the old seats. 

“Ol’ Damsel may not run like a dream, but she runs damnit.” Pap would always say whenever anyone would point out how bad the truck was. My aunts had tried over and over again to get Pap to trade it in. My Uncle James went as far as offering to sell his truck to Pap when he went in to get a new one. But Pap held steadfast, he was keeping Ol’ Damsel.

I always remember bumping along in the back of the truck bed, giggling as I waved at people driving by. 

There was one Memorial Day where we all were spending the long weekend at a campground Gram and Pap had always loved. My cousins and I were ready to explore the huge wooded area, but our parents weren’t as fond of the idea. It was Pap’s idea to pack all seven of us into the small bed and drive around the entire campground, Gram sitting up in the cab with him.

A few years later I was fourteen, and Pap had the brilliant idea of having me practice my driving skills. He sat me in Ol’ Damsel’s driver’s seat and spent the summer teaching me how to drive stick. Hundreds of jolts and bumpy rides around the backroads later, and I could work the old clunker better than almost all of my aunts and uncles. 

“I dare say your Damsel’s favorite damsel, Firefly.” Pap told me as I pulled the old truck into the garage. “She’s been too damn ornery for just about everyone else. Must mean she likes you.”

“What can I say,” I responded, accepting the Coca-Cola he handed me. “I guess I must be pretty good at taming ornery old clunkers.” I winked at him as he howled in laughter, grabbing the side of the truck to keep himself upright.

Just because I was the best (besides Pap) at running the old girl didn’t mean I was the only one to try. It was almost like a rite of passage for every Caddell to...attempt...to tame the beast. 

I can still remember riding along with Pap as my oldest cousin, Sandy, drove Ol’ Damsel. Strapped in between the old man and the anxious teen, I don’t think I have ever been closer to meeting my maker than I was that day as Sandy crunched through the gears when she wasn’t smashing the break. Pap made the joke that there was a permanent smear on the windshield from where my forehead kept hitting the glass.

As we all got older, Pap didn’t drive the truck much anymore. Most of the time, my gram would drive him and her in her little Buick, or my aunts would take turns driving him to doctor’s appointments in their minivans.

We were all over to the house the week after Thanksgiving, one last meeting before we all became too busy with life leading up to Christmas. I had just finished up the last of my college classes for the semester, and was watching whatever Gram had left on the TV when suddenly something flew through the air and landed on my cheek. I looked down, to see the old truck key. Looking back up, Pap stood in the doorway, coat and cap on, cane in one hand, and a devilish smile on his face.

“Hey Firefly, grab your coat, we’re goin’ on an adventure.” I stood up instantly, not sure what the old man was planning. Grabbing my own coat and boots, I helped Pap out to the garage where Ol’ Damsel had sat since the last of the grandkids had gone through the rite of passage.

Sitting down in the driver’s seat, I turned on the old beast, and sat there as she slowly revved to life. 

Following Pap’s instructions, I soon found myself pulling into a Christmas tree farm. Raising an eyebrow, I was quick to jump out of the truck as I saw Pap hobble down from his seat. We walked up to an old shack that must’ve served as the headquarters of the tree farm. 

An old man looked up as we approached then smiled when he saw Pap behind me.

“Eugene, you old dog! Didn’t think I’d be seeing you around here anymore! What can I do for you?” Pap smiled at him.

“Who are you calling old Harold, you look like you gotta foot in the grave! And what d'ya think I’m doing here you geezer? Me and Firefly over here came to take your best tree.” When Pap had told me we were going on an adventure, I wasn’t expecting to be chopping a tree down by myself. It was chilly considering it was early December, but I still found myself sweating by the time the tree fell. Thankfully, Harold took a little mercy on me and called on one of his sons to help me load the tree into the back of Ol’ Damsel.

Pap and I stood back and looked at my handiwork. I could finally see just what Pap saw when he looked at that old beat up truck. That old, bulky beauty looked straight out of a Christmas card, and I loved it.


End file.
